An Archery Lesson
by Glorious Clio
Summary: Post-Series. He wants her to have choices in the world. Part of the "Husbanding England" series. Fluff fluff fluff. Fluff.
1. Chapter 1

Title: An Archery Lesson

Rating: K+  
>Summary: Post-Series. He wants her to have choices in the world. Part of the "Husbanding England" series. Fluff fluff fluff. Fluff.<p>

Disclaimer: I do not hold any ownership over the BBC's version of Robin Hood. But the children are all mine.  
>Author's Note: Archery is something my father, brother, and I all enjoy. This might be the result. Or I just want to write fluff forever and ever and ever. Or I needed a break from the gangster Robin Hood story I'm writing. You decide, and let me know. In review form. For the record, I shoot a compound bow, so even with extensive research into medieval archery, I might still make mistakes. If your knowledge of medieval archery is greater, let me know. I'd be happy to fix any technical errors (besides the obvious- Robin Hood probably used a longbow. I try and address this).<p>

Neftzer is one awesome beta, I can tell you.

"_Courts and camps are the only places to learn the world in. …Take the tone of the company you are in." ~The Earl of Chesterfield, _Letters to His Son.

o0O0o

"Seven summers?" Marian asked him on the first sunny day in May, as if she were not sure of what he was planning. She was lying in bed, restless as she reached the ninth month of her most recent pregnancy. Robin and Marian already boasted two living daughters and a living son, but it seemed that this was not enough. Or it seemed that the activity of creating children was too entertaining for either of them to stop. Luckily they had engaged a governess two children ago, a stern, gray haired woman named Hilda, whom Robin loved to tease until she blushed.

"Seven," said Robin firmly. "You have already been instructing her on the finer points of riding. She will want her own horse soon. It is high time our daughter learn to string and shoot a bow." He rolled out of bed, pulled on his trousers and a tunic. He opened the window and watched the early morning sunlight play across the yard of Locksley Manor.

He had been planning this for some time. Since Katherine was born, if he was honest. He tried to stretch his memory back to when his own father had taught him to string a bow and shoot it. The words of wisdom, the consolation offered when he missed. And the firm encouragement, even on bad days. Robin of Locksley was excited to teach his daughter to shoot a bow.

Robin had mastered the bow before he began training as a knight. A bow, even a longbow, is easier to use over lengthy periods than a heavy broadsword. And as a boy, a buckler was easier to manipulate than a heavy shield with the Locksley coat of arms decorating it. Even when he was sent to London to train with the King's Guard as a squire, after his swordplay lessons, he would go off and shoot his bow. Many of his companions had looked down their spotty noses at the young Master of Locksley practicing and perfecting his aim. The bow, after all, was the tool of common filth. They were squires, knights, Lords even. Certainly they would live, and die, by the sword. But Robin always felt (and Much agreed) that though living and dying by the sword was all very well and good, the best defense was keeping out of range. He eventually earned the grudging respect of his peers. And the confidence of one King Richard.

With this philosophy, he began to notice how others' fighting styles often reflected their personality. Robin and Much preferred tactical, measured movements. And staying out of range.

Marian once told Robin that her father, Sir Edward, had taught her to fight because he had wanted her to have choices in the world. And she fought that way, carving out a life for herself as the Nightwatchman, and as a member of the gang. Robin felt the same way about all his children. He wanted them to excel at everything, not for the sake of his own pride, but so they would not have limitations when they reached adulthood. (Although teaching Geoffrey his sums had proven a lesson in discipline that none of them had expected.) While he hoped the times his children would face would not be half as tumultuous as his own, Robin had learned that it was prudent to hope for the best… and prepare for the worst.

After all, what if they were invited on a Royal Hunt? The girl (and later, her younger siblings), needed to wield her own weapons without hurting anyone else.

While Robin was inspecting the early morning clouds from his bedroom window, the door suddenly banged open, bringing him back from his thoughts. He turned quickly to see a bright smile on his seven-year-old daughter's face.

"Today?" Katherine asked. She was toying with the sleeve of her sleeping shift.

He nodded. "After we break our fasts," he promised his fair-haired girl.

Grinning, she fled to get dressed. Robin chuckled, and Marian smiled too.

"They grow so fast," she said fondly, rubbing her bulging stomach.

Robin leaned over, rested his hand on top of hers, and kissed her cheek.

He helped Hilda herd all the children through their morning ablutions and down the stairs for breakfast. Marian hobbled after them. Robin helped Marian and Hilda get everyone sufficiently fed, with as few tantrums as possible. Geoffrey, age six, was demanding more milk for his porridge. Hilda was watching Joan carefully as she gnawed on a piece of soft bread. Katherine did not say anything, but Robin could see excitement dancing in her eyes as she quietly spooned her porridge.

So anxious was Katherine that she helped Bridget and Hilda clear the table of the breakfast things, eager to get them out of the way. Marian drove the rest of the brood outside while Robin ran upstairs for his bow and the beautiful new bow he had commissioned from Will Scarlet. It was slightly smaller than Robin's bow; unstrung, it came to his shoulder. Will assured him that the draw was not nearly as strong as that of a larger bow. Robin made sure he had his own arm guard and one for his daughter, tucked their strings safely in his pocket, and pulled a quiver over his shoulder.

Katherine wiped her hands on her kirtle; they were sweating slightly. She was so excited. She had been looking forward to this for a very long time indeed. She was not accustomed to having either of her parents all to herself, and now to have Father teaching her what was, effectively, his trade, was something that was special.

She had hung around with the village children enough to know that she was different from them. Their fathers all practiced or plied some sort of trade: the Scarlet boys were already practicing whittling and sanding things, Edith helped her mother with her beautiful embroidery, Joseph was to become a blacksmith someday, just like his father. And all the Locksley/Knighton children had to look forward to was a life of Ledgers, Latin, Lords, and Ladies.

Katherine wanted a simple life, like her Father had had when he was Robin Hood. Yes, Katherine liked hearing stories about him, and his little camp in the forest with Lord Much and Will and Djaq Scarlet and others from the tales she heard from grown-ups in the villagers.

Father was taking forever. What was he doing?

He knew this was important to her. He did not know all of her reasons. She and her Father would be away from Geoffrey, boisterous and loud, and little Joan, almost a year old. And though Katherine barely remembered her baby brother Edward, who had died and left a small hole in each of her parents' hearts; she had to compete with all of them, all the time. Not that she minded. She liked baby Joan, who was so sweet, and even Geoffrey had …qualities. But to have Father to herself, to learn his legacy. Well, that was special.

Finally he rushed down the stairs, her bow in his left hand (she knew it was hers, she had watched Will Scarlet make it. "Out of Yew," he had told her. "Only the best." A man of few words, was Will Scarlet).

"Shall we?"

She nodded, and away they went, to the opposite side of the barn. Katherine waved at Mother, who waved back. She jumped puddles in the yard and greeted the first magpie she saw (for luck). (She wasn't sure how much luck she would need. She was more worried about her fingers getting torn to shreds. But Djaq had promised she had a salve for archer's fingers.)

"Are you sure you do not want to wait until next summer, Daughter?" he asked.

Katherine knew he was joking. He was wearing the little smirk he wore when teasing her mother or Hilda or Lord Much. She frowned at him and said simply, "I am sure, Father." She reached her hand out eagerly to her bow.

"Very well," he smiled. "The first thing you must learn is to string your bow. I am afraid I cannot teach you to shoot if you cannot handle your own weapon."

She nodded. His words made sense. "Will you teach me?"

Father laughed. "I will, of course."

"Now," he said, "this is _your_ bow. Treat it well, treat it with respect. You must take care of it, so it may take care of you. That is the first lesson."

Katherine was trying very hard to commit his every word to memory.

"We are shooting recurve bows, Katherine. The English Longbow is stronger and gets a further distance-"

"Then why do we not use those?" she interrupted.

"Because they are also much bigger than you, and have a very difficult draw for one seven years old." He smiled at her. The way he said things was very kind. He did not say she would _never_ be able to shoot a longbow, only that she had not reached that level yet. Katherine liked this about her Father.

"Now," he said, handing her a string, "I'll teach you to string your bow. The ends are known as 'limbs,' they are the parts that bend," he said, running his fingers down the bottom limb of his bow. Katherine did the same on her bow, seeing if she could feel the flexibility there. She could not. "Bows work against themselves. Coupled with the resistance you add, they have enough tension to shoot an arrow.

"Take your first string and tie it to the bottom. Check your string for weaknesses."

She ran her small fingers up the perfect string. "It seems fine, Father." She knew it would be. Katherine had gone crazy with waiting, so Will Scarlet, had put her to work putting beeswax on the flax string.

"Good. Now, hold the other end of the string with your _right _hand and your bow with your _left_ hand." He did the action himself first, and she followed him. "Now, see how it makes a _V_ like in your letters?"

She nodded again.

"Step through the _V_ with your left foot." He did so and she copied him again. "Okay, now the tricky part. Wrap the curve of the bottom limb around the front of your right ankle," he demonstrated, "and the middle of the bow behind your left knee." He showed her, but this time, he had to set his bow down and help her. "How does that feel?"

"A little odd," she confessed.

"Does it feel bad?"

"No, just… strange." Katherine did not quite know what to make of having the bow wrapped around her legs. But she trusted her Father. This had to be the easiest way to string a bow, or he would not be showing it to her.

"Okay, well if it begins to hurt, slowly release the tension, and we will try it again."

"All right," she agreed, seeing that if she did it even a little bit wrong, it would probably hurt a little.

Picking up his own bow again, Father caught up with her and resumed the lesson. "Now, try and push back with your left leg; with your left arm, pull the top limb in front of you, and loop the string over the end." He did this very slowly while she watched him carefully, picking up every detail.

"Now, you try," he encouraged, laying his bow in the grass and carefully spotting her in her efforts.

It took three tries, pushing as hard as she could on her left knee, while trying to pull the top limb towards her. It felt peculiar, but she tried to do what the wood wanted her to, like in Will's strange lessons about carpentry. Eventually, she managed it, the string slipping over the top like it was meant to do.

"Good job," Father told her warmly. He was proud of her.

"Thank you!"

"A few more things. Since the bow is in your hand, safety is also your responsibility. Whenever you nock an arrow, you want to make sure no one is going to get in your way. Never aim at someone," he handed her the smaller armguard and began tying his on his left arm. She struggled a bit with the ties, so he bent over to help her.

"Father, what if I am in danger?" she asked him, testing his reaction. He had a reputation, after all, for being the best archer in Nottinghamshire, and a Crusader and an outlaw.

His fingers fumbled on the slipknot he was tying. "Well, yes, then that is different of course. But for lessons, you will not be shooting at anything but the barn. We will save hunting for later."

_Hunting?_ Katherine thought.

Quickly, he counted off ten paces from the barn, and laid a stick down. "We will start from this distance," he said. "Plant your feet firmly in the ground, shoulder length apart. Hold the middle of the bow with your left hand, and choose an arrow."

He placed his hand over hers and said gently, "Now, when you nock the arrow, see the three feathers? Make sure a point of the triangle points is away from you, otherwise the fletching gets torn up by the bow. Snuggle the arrow under your first finger, with your middle two fingers supporting it."

"What about my pinky?" she asked, wiggling the small finger in question.

He smiled. "You do not need it now, let it relax. Now, draw your bow."

"Already?"

Father nodded at her. "You have seen enough archers to know what to do. These are practices, I will give you some more suggestions in a few minutes, but I want you to get a feel for it first."

"Alright," she conceded in a way that told him she thought he was quite mad. She did not feel quite up to the task at hand, and was suddenly nervous to shoot in front of the famous Robin Hood, even if he did tuck her in every night. Still, who else would teach archery?

She took a deep breath and let her first arrow fly. It landed nowhere near to where she was aiming. Oh, well.

"Not bad," Father encouraged. "Try again."

She shot three more arrows when Father stopped her. He had been watching closely.

"When you draw the string, where are you bringing your right hand?"

She thought for a moment, and when she did not know, she closed her eyes and mimicked her previous actions.

"The apple of my cheek," she said, opening her eyes. It had happened naturally, without her thinking about it. Her thumb had found a spot right underneath her cheekbone.

"That, Daughter, is your anchor. Mine is my chin," he indicated it, "and your Mother's is her jaw-line. Always bring your hand back to that same spot on your cheek," he pinched her there for emphasis.

Katherine grinned happily. "Does everyone have a different anchor?"

"Yes, but you can learn other anchors. I do not recommend it. You should always go with what is most comfortable. Some people may try and tell you that your anchor is wrong, but ignore them; go with what feels right."

"Yes, Father," she said obediently. Then she burst out, "Do anchors change?"

"Hmmm… I suppose they could. Mine never has, but that does not mean others' have not." Father continued the lesson. He was ever so serious about this. It was somewhat amusing. "Now, your left hand: do not squeeze your bow so hard. It will tire your hand. Try and keep the grip loose. You should mostly be holding it on the fatty part of your thumb, not directly on your palm."

"So many things to remember!"

"Do not worry. Remember how hard writing was at first?" His eyes twinkled at her.

"And now it is easy," she granted him.

"Indeed. It just takes a little practice. As you draw your bow, take a breath, and as you aim, hold it."

She shot for a little bit. He was watching her, she could see out of the corner of her eye. But he seemed lost in thought. Katherine wondered if she were good enough to join his band of outlaws. The merry stories of adventure played in her head as she shot, one arrow after another, occasionally setting down the bow to retrieve the arrows.

After a time, she grew tired of being watched. "Father, are you not going to shoot?"

He laughed and joined her. He was much better than her, but that was only to be expected. Katherine tried to ignore his excellent shots and focus on her own. It would do no good to compare them. He had been shooting for an hundred years, it seemed, and she had only started today.

Yet some traits must be hereditary, for a few minutes later, Katherine hit the center ring of the target. She let out a shriek of delight. Father turned to see where the last arrow landed – right in the middle circle of her target. Not a direct bull's-eye, but near enough for Katherine to be pleased. She could not wait to tell Mother.

"I think I am finished now," Katherine said calmly, laying her bow in the grass.

"I agree with you. It is always good to end a lesson on such good terms."

They went to pull their arrows out of the side of the barn. Robin showed her how to unstring her bow (the direct opposite of stringing a bow), and the two returned to Locksley Manor. Katherine held her bow in her left hand, her arm guard still on, her right hand firmly clasped in her Father's.

"How often will my lessons be?" she asked gleefully. Excitement bubbled within her.

"I was thinking once or twice a week," her Father promised.

Katherine grinned and jumped over a puddle, landing neatly on the other side. She did not want to muddy her kirtle or her fine leather boots. Perhaps she should not be an outlaw after all. Still, the morning had been better that she had ever expected.

"This was fun, Father. I can see why you liked being Robin Hood," she said carelessly, the words slipping from her mouth before she could stop them.

He halted, squeezing her hand. "Who told you I was Robin Hood?"

"Oh, everybody," she said, trying to pass off the stories she and her friends and Geoffrey had heard from nearly everyone in Nottingham. She should not have mentioned it. Father would tell them in his own time.

"What does everybody say?"

"Only that you are a good Lord and know the needs of your people. Mother, too. Although they call her 'Lady'." She tugged on his hand, trying not to make a bigger fuss out of her acquisition of knowledge. She would know the truth someday, and that was soon enough.

"And what do you think?"

"About Robin Hood? Well, you are a Lord again. So you accomplished all your goals. That must make you as right and just and accomplished as everyone says." She tried to assuage his feelings.

It must have worked. He stepped over the puddle that she had jumped, his long legs taking it in stride. They continued up to the house, and when Mother waved at them, Father let go of her hand and she ran the rest of the way to the house, ready to tell Mother what had happened, and to answer the million questions that Geoff surely had. All in all, the morning had been quite wonderful. And next year, when Geoffrey joined her and Father at the barn, well, archery lessons would just keep getting more interesting.

o0O0o

Part two is Robin's POV, and is coming soon. Hope you enjoyed this!


	2. Chapter 2

Robin's POV, aka chapter two:

o0O0o

Dashing downstairs, he collected Katherine, who was so happy she could barely speak and ushered her outside to the barn.

Long ago he had marked the side of the north side of the Locksley barn where he often shot. It was so pockmarked from a lifetime of practice that Robin thought he might have to switch to the south side of the structure, and soon. There was not such a large target at Knighton; he doubted Marian would want them ruining the new stables she had had built.

"Are you sure you do not want to wait until next summer, Daughter?" he asked, having no intention of doing so.

She landed him with a glare, and said simply, "I am sure, Father." She reached her hand out eagerly for the smaller bow.

"Very well," he smiled. "The first thing you must learn is to string your bow. I am afraid I cannot teach you to shoot if you cannot handle your own weapon."

She nodded, and asked, "Will you teach me?"

Robin laughed. She was so good-natured, but so small. It warmed his heart to hear her ask him to teach her how to shoot. "I will, of course."

With no small reverence, he passed her the smaller bow to her waiting hand. "Now," he said, "this is _your_ bow. Treat it well, treat it with respect. You must take care of it, so it may take care of you. That is the first lesson." As he said the words, he remembered the last time he spoke so highly of his weapon – in his odd proposal to Marian.

Katherine nodded again.

"We are shooting recurve bows, Katherine. The English Longbow is stronger and gets a further distance-"

"Then why do we not use those?" she queried, lifting an eyebrow at him and suddenly reminding him of Marian, despite the lighter features.

"Because they are also much bigger than you, and have a very difficult draw for one seven years old." He smiled at her. Robin knew that one day he would teach her to shoot a longbow, and then she could decide for herself which design she preferred. For now, the recurve would be easier for her to handle.

"Now," he said, handing her a string, "I'll teach you to string your bow.

It took three tries, but she got the feel for it quite quickly.

"Good job," he told her warmly. She smiled at the bow, a blush creeped across her face.

"Thank you!"

"A few more things. Since the bow is in your hand, safety is also your responsibility. Whenever you nock an arrow, you want to make sure no one is going to get in your way. Never aim at someone," he handed her the smaller armguard and began tying his on his left arm. She struggled a bit with the ties, so he bent over to help her.

"Father, what if I am in danger?" she gave him a knowing look which made Robin suddenly uncomfortable.

His fingers fumbled on the slipknot he was tying. _Just how many legends of Robin Hood had his children heard? _"Well, yes, then that is different of course. But for lessons, you will not be shooting at anything but the barn. We will save hunting for later," _and tactical defensives and strategic offenses for the indefinite future_, he finished in his head.

Quickly, he counted off ten paces from the barn, and laid a stick down. He walked her through some finer points before saying, "Now, draw your bow."

"Already?"

Robin nodded at her. "You have seen enough archers to know what to do. These are practices, I will give you some more suggestions in a few minutes, but I want you to get a feel for it first."

"Alright," she conceded in a way that told him she thought he was quite mad.

She let her first arrow fly. It landed nowhere near to where she was aiming.

"Not bad," Robin encouraged. "Try again."

She shot three more arrows when Robin stopped her. He had been watching closely, but wanted to know if she was conscious of what she was doing with her right hand.

"When you draw the string, where are you bringing your right hand?"

She thought for a moment, and when she did not know, she closed her eyes and mimicked her previous actions.

"The apple of my cheek," she said, opening her eyes.

"That, Daughter, is your anchor. Mine is my chin," he indicated it, "and your Mother's is her jaw-line. Always bring your hand back to that same spot on your cheek," he pinched her there for emphasis.

Katherine grinned happily. "Does everyone have a different anchor?"

"Yes, but you can learn other anchors. I do not recommend it. You should always go with what is most comfortable. Some people may try and tell you that your anchor is wrong, but ignore them; go with what feels right."

"Yes, Father," she said obediently. Then she burst out, "Do anchors change?"

The question surprised him. But perhaps it should not have – children had a way of asking questions all of the time, and sometimes, they proved very insightful. "Hmmm… I suppose they could. Mine never has, but that does not mean others' have not." Robin continued the lesson.

"As you draw your bow, take a breath, and as you aim, hold it." She was shooting with both eyes open, which was good, and she did not seem to be aiming "down the arrow," but rather, only at her target. Of course she would do so, archery was in her blood.

Robin watched as his eldest kept pulling back and letting go. He sat down and lounged in the grass, still wet with dew, and pondered. Keeping to his theories, her style (as much of one as she had developed in thirty minutes) was as calm as her personality. She was unruffled: even if she missed her target, despite getting close to it, she just kept going.

Marian had a theory, too - that anchors told a great deal about the archer in question. For instance, Marian brought the arrow to her jaw, which showed that she was stubborn. Robin brought the arrow to his chin. This told Marian that he was willful (she confessed with a grin). He wondered what Marian would say about Katherine's anchor. And he wondered how she settled on the traits that were revealed by the anchor; they made little sense to him.

"Father, are you not going to shoot?"

Robin shook off his ponderings and joined her. Remarkably, she seemed content at just being with him, without competing against anyone else for his undivided attention. Robin noticed that while it took her a few more groupings to get comfortable, she soon took to it like a duckling who takes to water knowing how to swim.

A few minutes later, she let out a shriek of delight. Robin turned to see where the last arrow landed – right in the middle circle of her target. Not a direct bull's-eye, but near enough for an impressive first lesson.

They went to pull their arrows out of the side of the barn. Robin showed her how to unstring her bow (the direct opposite of stringing a bow), and the two returned to Locksley Manor. Katherine held her bow in her left hand, her arm guard still on, her right hand was firmly clasped in Robin's.

"How often will my lessons be?" she asked gleefully.

"I was thinking once or twice a week."

Katherine grinned and jumped over a puddle, landing neatly on the other side.

"This was fun, Father. I can see why you liked being Robin Hood," she said carelessly, clearly unaware of the magnitude of her words.

He stopped suddenly, mind reeling from the words that had just come out of his daughter's mouth. "Who told you I was Robin Hood?"

"Oh, everybody," she said, completely unconcerned.

"What does everybody say?" _What _would _they say? _

"Only that you are a good Lord and know the needs of your people. Mother, too. Although they call her 'Lady'." She tugged on his hand, annoyed that he had stopped. He saw that she wanted to find her mother and tell her about the lesson.

"And what do you think?" He held her fast for a moment, slightly desperate to hear her reply.

"About Robin Hood? Well, you are a Lord again. So you accomplished all your goals. That must make you as right and just and accomplished as everyone says."

Robin could tell she was no longer interested in the conversation, that she took this knowledge for granted. He let it drop for now. But he knew that if one of the brood knew, all of them knew. Old Henry's Pants! The child in Marian's womb probably knew he was Robin Hood. Oh, the conversations that would come.

Archery lessons just got a little more interesting.


End file.
